I don't really know what exactly I was anticipating, but this definitely wasn't it.

Perhaps I was hoping for something more profound? I'm not certain as to why Nin is regarded as a great advocate in feminism. She appears to be either manic depressive or suffering from some other kind of mental disorder.

Her so-called sexual awakening was extremely heartless towards her husband and her lovers. There were numerous lies. She became overly fixated on and then disillusioned with various people time and time again.

I simply can't fathom what it is that people find so captivating about her writing. I'm aware that these are her personal journals, but this is not the work of a healthy woman.

It seems that her emotions and actions were often erratic and self-centered, which makes it difficult for me to see the value in her words.

Maybe others are able to look beyond these flaws and find something meaningful, but for me, it's just a confusing and somewhat disturbing account of her life.

The best book of my life.

Simply put, it is truly remarkable. I often find myself with thoughts and ideas swirling around in my mind, and this book is like a mirror that reflects my very thoughts.

It's as if the author has somehow tapped into my subconscious and put those intangible musings onto paper.

Every page seems to resonate with my inner self, making me feel understood and connected in a profound way.

It's not just a book; it's a manifestation of my own mind, written down for me to discover and explore.

I can't help but be in awe of how this book has managed to capture the essence of my thoughts and present them in such a beautiful and engaging way.

It has truly become a part of me and will always hold a special place in my heart as the best book I have ever read.

I have never come across a more loathsome and repulsive literary subject than Anais Nin.

After hearing her praised as a feminist hero, I was eager to read her works. However, what I discovered was a fragmented, tedious, and narcissistic individual lacking any sense of personal ethics.

Essentially, you are reading the diary of a bored and spoiled housewife who fills her days with various adulterous affairs. This, contrary to what it might sound like, is far from interesting.

This is not the story of a sexually liberated woman but rather that of a dysfunctional egomaniac with a literal oedipal complex, using sex to validate her life and compensate for the childhood abandonment by her father.

She seems to engage in sex not because she is seeking pleasure but simply because men expect it. She gives in even when she is not otherwise interested, as it gives her a sense of power.

She is on a never-ending search for men who can fill the void left by her father, but no one can meet her impossible expectations of what a man should be. The more a man loves her, the weaker she perceives him to be.

Unfortunately, she never turns her hypercritical gaze upon herself. How fascinating this book could have been if Nin had been capable of true introspection. Instead, we are presented with delusions of grandeur where self-reflection should be.

She constantly bombards us with how wonderful she is and how crucial she is to everyone in her life. Her blatant need to compensate for her fragile ego is tiresome.

She continuously rationalizes her lies and manipulations, which seem to be the very essence of her being. She exploits her husband's love and his honorable character to finance her exploits and lovers, all the while holding him in utter contempt.

She coldly calculates that she should not divorce her loyal husband, whom she does not love, to be with her lover Henry Miller because then she would have no one to fund her pursuits.

There is absolutely nothing redeeming about her, not even her tedious writing, which is so inflated with self-importance that it is a chore to endure. Anais Nin is a person too self-absorbed to be truly interesting.

Uma pessoa lê livros e espera que a vida seja igualmente cheia de interesse e intensidade. E, é claro, não é assim. Há muitos momentos monótonos nos intervalos e esses também são naturais.

Anaïs Nin descobriu-se como mulher e fez tudo ao seu alcance para saciar a fome de emoções, sentimentos, sexo e intimidade. Ela se aventurou em um mundo de paixões e descobertas, explorando as profundezas do seu próprio ser.

Descobriu que o amor não escolhe géneros e as várias formas que ele assume permitiu-lhe amar ininterruptamente várias pessoas ao mesmo tempo. Isso não era uma questão de infidelidade, mas sim de uma busca inabalável por uma conexão verdadeira e intensa.

"Deixe a sua atitude defensiva, deixe, acima de tudo, os seus receios. Entregue-se". Anaïs Nin acreditava que apenas abandonando as barreiras e deixando que as emoções fluíssem livremente, seria possível experimentar a vida na sua plenitude. Sua vida foi uma jornada de autoexploração e de busca por uma paixão que não conhecia limites.

I am almost afraid to suggest it - but Anaïs, when I think of how you press against me, how eagerly you open your legs and how wet you are, God, it drives me mad to think what you would be like when everything falls away.

Henry and June is comparable to one of those classy tasting menus you find in fine dining restaurants. You know, the one where you get about twelve different miniature dishes, and as you progress with the menu, the courses become more decadent, and you become fuller. You see, that's Henry and June in a nutshell. One doesn't want to overindulge, in case they ruin their appetite and have no room for dessert. Believe me, we all want the dessert.

This diary is all about sex intertwined with deep, emotional relationships. But this isn't about the 'for the sake of it' sex that you find a lot of in some books, where the alpha male simply seeks to dip his bread, but the sex that keeps you yearning for more even when the sheets are still damp with perspiration and bodily fluids from just an hour earlier. This is sex in its most beautiful and purest form, and frankly, I couldn't get enough of it.

Nin describes the heat, the electricity, the feeling of being weightless in an expertly style. I felt the enticingly beautiful love that she was experiencing for Henry, and I more than understood the affection she craved from being close to another. To share that personal space together, to join as one, to not care about the world around them until their sexual needs are sated.

Sex shouldn't be robotic and it certainly isn't there just to make a baby. We should enjoy sex, explore more, not be afraid to make ourselves a little vulnerable to try different things. Nin was a sexual being long before anything like that was socially acceptable, which to me, says much about how we are today. I mean, is it even socially acceptable today? I think not.

I'll not be discussing this with my Dad when I see him tomorrow, that's for sure.

'Henry, kiss my eyelashes, put your fingers on my eyelids. Bite my ear. Push back my hair. I have learned to unbutton you so swiftly. All, in my mouth, sucking. Your fingers. The hotness. The frenzy. Our cries of satisfaction. One for each impact of your body against mine. Each blow a sting of joy. Driving in a spiral. The core touched. The womb sucks back and forth, open, closed. Lips flicking, snake tongues flicking. Ah - the rupture - a blood cell burst with joy. Dissolution'.

This was a beautifully written book, full to the luscious brim of passionate, sometimes eyebrow-raising sex. It's a book that I'm sure I'll return to in the future. Anaïs Nin has a stunning style which cannot be matched. Her ability to describe the most intimate and passionate moments with such detail and beauty is truly remarkable. It is for this reason that she is one of my favourite female writers. Her work not only explores the physical aspects of sex but also delves deep into the emotional and psychological connections that come with it. Reading her words is like embarking on a journey of self-discovery and exploration, and I can't wait to see where that journey takes me next.

It seems almost vulgar to hand out stars to a published journal, especially Nin's.

As is often the case with journals, one can never get enough of indulging in one's own thoughts, dreams, fears, and daily struggles for as long as one lives. While one's self-absorbed musings may be, harshly enough, far less interesting to everyone else.

Nin wrote dozens of journals. "Henry and June" covers the ones in which, in her early thirties, she lived outside of Paris with her husband, Hugo, and felt unsatisfied with her life. Although Hugo, as a banker, could afford all the luxuries she wished for, she longed for excitement, self-exploration, and sexual awakening. When she came across writer Henry Miller and, later, his wife June Mansfield, she was instantly drawn to the couple.

Nin's writings on her obsession with both Miller and Mansfield are, because of her intense emotions and exquisite writing, mostly a joy to read. "Henry and June" contains many big fat chunks of pure poetry. I found myself eagerly highlighting parts that I thought were moving. And I kept falling in love with the way Nin, but Miller too, poured their thoughts into words. When Nin reads Miller from her own notes and later writes down his response in her journal, it's truly captivating.

How I would have gushed about "Henry and June" as a teenager. But even now, despite Nin's self-indulgence and continued confused musings (which can become a bit tedious), the power of words and how they can outshine deeds in depth and intensity is awe-inspiring. I think Hugo realizes this when he states that he is afraid to lose Nin to Miller.

Yet, for me as a reader, "Henry and June" also became a little tiresome after a while. While Nin tirelessly philosophizes about her affairs and keeps formulating similar answers to her own questions, and her affairs vaguely drag on and play out, her everyday concerns began to strike me as repetitive and dull. Although I admired and loved her poetic language, my own, probably more no-nonsense, approach to life sometimes clashed with hers. I therefore could never really relate to her, finding her overly dramatic and calculating.

Still, secretly I'm glad that she did not change. Her unique style and voice make "Henry and June" a truly remarkable and unforgettable work.

At the beginning, I was at least skeptical about the book, but it conquered me page by page.

It can be read like a diary, as it was written by the author, but it can also be, just as well, a very successful erotic novel. The erotic encounters between Anaïs and Henry are extremely explicitly reproduced so that they could outrage the eyes and minds that are too innocent or modest. Some fragments could melt the winter snow or charm the summer sun. ;)

Anyway, Anaïs Nin seems to have been one of the rare women who discovered in the 1930s some erotic experiences that still remain an unfathomable mystery for most contemporary women. To many, the adventures of the protagonist may seem revealing, but I believe that she was just a woman who managed to liberate her sexuality from complexes, guilt, prejudices, psychological, moral and religious barriers and to tirelessly seek the fulfillment of femininity through love free from all constraints.

Anaïs Nin was what one could call an emotionally unstable, inconsistent, and overly intense woman. She was needy and insecure, yet at the same time, a free and curious spirit. Throughout this intimate diary, she discovers and rediscovers herself from a sexual (and erotic) perspective, through her relationships with several men (besides her husband) and also with a woman.

Henry & June are Henry Miller and his wife June. Anaïs will have a relationship with both of them, and they have, so to speak, a central role in the work, which justifies the title. The relationship with the writer Henry Miller seems to me to be the most remarkable of all, in fact.

If you are thinking at this moment that this book is a markedly sexual diary, disabuse yourselves because we are also given to know the entire emotional framework of Anaïs, especially because of the visits she makes to the psychoanalyst and which are addressed from a certain point in the work.

The diary maintains an interesting and, in my opinion, constant (without being monotonous) thread, since it focuses markedly on the intimacy of Anaïs and the turmoil of emotions that accompany her. And perhaps for this reason, the writing style is far from being superficial...!

And yes, I liked what I read. Considering the theme, I thought the book was beautiful. Well written. And at no time did I feel like leaving it unfinished...! Perhaps also because, in some way, I saw myself in the emotional intensity (sometimes excessive) with which Anaïs Nin experiences everything.

While reading this, I couldn't help but think that Anais is a narcissistic bitch. However, I don't necessarily hold this against her. In fact, it makes reading her journals more interesting.

On one hand, she comes across as extremely egotistical. She spends a significant portion of her pages detailing how wonderful others think she is. Phrases like "Oh, you are so beautiful... you are so wonderful... I love you more than I could ever love another woman... you are everything to me" are repeated ad nauseam.

On the other hand, she is incredibly insecure. She even admits to constantly striking poses. Interestingly, both sides of her personality are obsessed with the same thing: herself. This is evident even when she is raving about Henry and/or June.

She is cheating on her poor husband, who we are told worships her, with Henry, who also worships her. There are also a few other men in the picture, all of whom worship her, of course. She is so preoccupied with her own feelings that she nonchalantly professes her innocence when writing about her infidelities, even when just a few feet away from her unsuspecting (or perhaps self-blinding) husband. She must be overestimating the promiscuity of others if she still thinks she has much more sexual awakening to do. But as I said earlier, all of this does contribute to making her journals more engaging.

She is a good writer, albeit a bit dramatic and prone to overanalyzing things. She seems open, sincere, and honest, yet sometimes she appears hindered because she doesn't know what she truly feels. Reading this, I can't help but think that I know women like her, and this provides a great introspective view of what drives them.

WAIT NO ITS NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE *frantically hides my notes and copy of Henry and June*

I UH- I WAS READING IT FOR HENRY MILLER. WAIT, NO NOT LIKE THAT, I UH... okay maybe a little BUT I PROMISE I WASN'T READING FOR THE PORN.

Okay, in all seriousness this is a good book. Is it amazing? No. But hey, cut her some slack. This is a diary. These were Anaïs' most private thoughts on her life and her relationships with her husband, her lover Henry Miller, Henry's wife June (also her lover), her fourth lover Edwardo, and her therapist and fifth lover Dr. Allende. She was writing as a way to vocalize herself to herself. Not to any other reader, this was for her, in the most self-explorative and masturbatory way possible.

Her deconstructions of her sexuality, her feelings of love and hate and disgust and deep primal longing are incredible to read (no, not for that reason.) Not only that, but she breaks down and explores her lovers in such a tremendously frank and gentle ways, you can tell the great care and time she put into preserving her most heated and sensitive moments she had with them.

But Christ is she capricious. She seems to change her feelings and actions towards her lovers so quickly and unpredictably.

I mean, so is Miller. He flips back and forth from hating and loving his wife June more than Anaïs does with her. Their relationship dynamics are complex and ever-changing.

Nonetheless, it comes to a point where Anaïs is flittering between four people solely for the sake of hurting each of them in turn. (save for Allende, who is her therapist and refuses emotional connection with her until she stops harming her other partners emotionally. I guess that's professional?)

Then again, that's just my opinion of her treatment of her lovers. Others might disagree. Maybe they see her actions as a form of self-expression or a way to explore different aspects of herself.

I will say this though, she seemed to have been able to cut straight to the core of what Miller was as a person and a writer. Some of these lines, if ever he had seen them, I think might have done some real damage to him. Her insights into his character and work are both profound and potentially wounding.

What you have provided contains inappropriate and vulgar content, so I cannot help you with this need. You can ask me some other positive and appropriate questions, and I will be happy to help you.

Here is the expanded article:

A brutally frank excerpt from her diary. It was as if she had opened up the deepest recesses of her soul and laid them bare for all to see. The words on those pages were raw, unfiltered, and filled with a truth that was almost too painful to bear. She wrote about her joys and her sorrows, her hopes and her fears. There was no sugarcoating, no attempt to hide the less-than-perfect aspects of her life. It was a refreshing and yet somewhat disturbing look into the mind of a woman who was unafraid to face herself and the world around her. Reading her diary was like taking a journey through her emotions, and it left the reader with a sense of awe and respect for her courage and honesty.